Eight Pilots
by Liisiko
Summary: The job could be summed up in a few simple words: Keep the ship running and fly him wherever his missions require. Simple enough, right? A look at all the different pilots who worked with Starkiller.


**After my last fic i thought I would try something a little different. I've had this idea bouncing around for a while and I was never really sure what to do with it. **

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><p>There had been eight pilots who had worked with Starkiller. The job could be summed up in a few simple words: Keep the ship running and fly him wherever his missions require. Simple enough, right?<p>

Not really. The job had proved to have a rather high turnover rate.

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><p>The first pilot didn't really know what to think of the boy he had been assigned to work with. He couldn't have been much more than…what? Thirteen? Fourteen? Tall for his approximated age and stick thin. He was still just a kid.<p>

But the first pilot hadn't lasted this long by asking questions. Close to retirement, he was quite content to wait out the last few years, get his pension and go retire someplace quiet. If flying some kid around got him there then that was fine by him.

He could feel the boy's inquisitive eyes on him as he looked over the stealth ship's systems. This mission would be a rather short trip. He hadn't asked what the boy would be doing when he arrived or why someone so young was being trusted with an assignment from the Dark Lord himself. But there were some questions that needed to be asked that wouldn't put him at risk.

"You got a name, kid?" He asked as he prepared the _Rogue Shadow_ for the jump.

"No." The boy seemed surprised at the question.

"Everyone has a name."

"My Master has assigned me the callsign: Starkiller."

Some would ask questions about that, but not the first pilot. Do the job, and don't think about it too much. His lack of curiosity is what had gotten him through all his years of service and let him ride out all the changes in an unpredictable galaxy.

Unfortunately, it's not enough to get him through to retirement.

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><p>The second resented his assignment. He had the skills to do be doing better things than running errands with a surly teenager. He never said so – he knew better than to voice any complaint if he wanted to go on living – but Starkiller could tell. It underlined every word he spoke, every action he carried out.<p>

"Those coordinates are wrong." Starkiller stated blandly as he sat down next to the pilot. There was nothing insulting behind it, but the statement still grated.

"No they aren't. I checked them twice."

"Then you made a mistake twice." There was definitely an insult behind that.

"Well, if you know so much about astronavigation, why don't you do the flying?" He snapped back, not bothering to conceal his irritation at the boy attempting to correct him.

"My Master prefers I stay focused on the mission. Now, are you going to fix that before we crash, or should I?"

The pilot irritably rechecked everything. He had made a mistake. Not one bad enough to result in crashing or anything like that, but it was still a mistake. One that – in all likelihood – would not go unreported if Starkiller's expression was anything to go by.

He was right. The mistake and his reaction to having it pointed out were reported. That was the last time Starkiller saw the second pilot. The next day someone else was assigned to fly for him.

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><p>The third pilot pities his charge. Whatever it is that the strange young man does, it's obviously not easy. He often comes back injured, but never complains or asks for assistance. He had a quiet withdrawn attitude that seemed far more mature than his outward age suggested.<p>

"Captain," Starkiller's voice over the comm unit has a rough, pained edge to it. "I'm done here. Time to go."

So, it was going to be that sort of day then. He quickly checks the cloaking device as he descends for a landing. All systems are functioning and he is sure he can put the ship down without being detected.

He opens the rear hatch. "Ready when you are."

The pilot doesn't have long to wait before he hears the sound of boots on the deck behind him.

"Get us... out of here." He sounded out of breath.

"Were you successful?" The pilot asked as he took them up into orbit and prepared for the long trip back to base.

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't have...come back." The apprentice sat down with a faint wince, pressing one hand to his side. A thin trickle of blood was oozing from between his fingers but he gave no other outward sign of distress.

The pilot would have liked to ask if he was alright, but already knew what the answer would be. As always, Starkiller would insist that he was fine and flatly order the pilot to mind his own business. To some extent the pilot could understand why this would be. It was dangerous to show any sort of weakness. Any failing – no matter how small – could be considered justification enough to be cast aside. The price of failure was high, and there was no room for error. He had learned those same lessons during his time at the Academy.

The strong survive.

The weak don't.

It was kind of sad that someone had figured out those rules for survival so young.

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><p>The fourth pilot fears Starkiller. He had heard stories about Force-sensitives of course. They could do things that were – according to everything he understood about physics and nature – impossible.<p>

Everything about the young man he has been assigned to work with strikes him as being slightly...off. Despite his youth he radiated an almost inhuman sense of grace and power. He was just a little too fast and eerily aware of far more than he should be. It just wasn't right.

Halfway through a routine maintenance check on the ships systems the pilot looked up, unable to shake the sense that someone was staring at him.

He was right. Starkiller had been watching him work for the last half hour; mildly amused that the pilot had been completely unable to sense his presence and wondering what it was like to be so totally unaware of one's surroundings. To Starkiller it seemed like most people went through life with their eyes shut and ears plugged. How could someone live like that?

The pilot, for his part, wished Starkiller would just go away. There was work to be done and it was hard to concentrate with someone staring at him so unnervingly.

He didn't like what he saw in those eyes. Usually they were just coldly disinterested, but that wasn't anything the pilot hadn't seen before. That description could fit half of the people the pilot had worked with over the years. Everyone required a certain degree of detached calm to deal with stressful situations effectively.

No, what worried the pilot was that the carefully neutral expression was just a mask. He suspected there was something far darker underneath. Something filled with rage and pain; just waiting for its chance to emerge.

The pilot would ask for a transfer, but some gut instinct warned him that the request would be ignored. That there was no getting out of this alive.

He was right.

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><p>The fifth liked to talk. There just wasn't much else to do on long trips with no one but Starkiller and his odd droid for company. Not that Starkiller ever had much to say. It became something of a game for the pilot to try and find some question or statement that would take the apprentice more than ten words to answer. It wasn't a game he won often.<p>

"So, where are we going?"

"Duro."

"Why are we going there?" He asked; unable to contain his curiosity.

"You don't need to know that."

"Well, what if something goes wrong?" He pressed.

Starkiller shrugged. "I'll figure something out."

"You don't like to talk much do you?"

"Do you ever _stop_ talking?" It could have been the pilot's imagination, but he thought he heard a faint hint of amusement in the boy's voice.

"Hardly ever." The pilot said with a grin as he locked in the coordinates.

That was the closest thing to a real conversation they ever had.

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><p>The sixth didn't talk much at all. He preferred silence and to be left to his own thoughts while he worked. Starkiller didn't mind, as he didn't have much to say anyway.<p>

"Where to?"

"Brentaal."

The pilot nodded in acknowledgment and turned to the controls.

"Coordinates locked. Prepare for jump."

After such a talkative pilot so much silence felt strange somehow. Not bad, just...different.

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><p>The seventh pilot Starkiller never really got to know. Nothing about his habits, his personal life or anything at all, really. Admittedly, he didn't try. He had learned a long time ago that it was better not to. If you didn't know someone then you couldn't miss them when they were gone.<p>

Starkiller witnessed the seventh pilot's death, which in and of itself wasn't all that unusual. Pilots one, two and five had all been executed by his master for reasons such as tardiness, lack of respect or simply not being up to the standards required for such a demanding position. The others had all died for a variety of reasons. Usually related to making some sort of mistake during a mission. Even the relative security of the cockpit was never any guarantee of safety.

He didn't even know what this pilot's fatal mistake was. It could have been anything, really. Being a little late to a debriefing, sloppy maintenance work on the ship, failure to obey quickly enough. Hell, maybe his master was just in a really bad mood that day. He never did get any answer.

Not that it really mattered.

It wasn't his place to question his master's will. He stayed where he was, head down, kneeling obediently. Awaiting orders as the pilot he had worked with for the last three months had the life choked out of him.

He knew life was much easier when you didn't know anything about them. In the end, they were all disposable and easily replaced. He didn't even bother to remember their names anymore.

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><p>The eighth changed everything. There is a lot you could say about their relationship; it was short, uneasy and never should have worked. But somehow it did.<p>

Neither of them was sure how it started.

Was it that awkward first meeting? Both of them closed off and believing that something like falling in love could never happen to them.

Was it the day when he defied orders to rescue her from certain death? She had not dared to hope that someone would set her free. Luckily, he was starting to realize that there was more to fight and live for than he had ever thought possible.

Or maybe it was something in the long months of searching and fighting that followed. Getting to know each other as friends rather than co-workers. Slowly realizing that they enjoyed each others company. Slowly realizing how good it felt to not be alone anymore.

However it happened, he saved her life, and she saved him from being lost in darkness.

What else is there to say?

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><p><strong>I would like to thank MarshMella and From Pen to Paper for all their help. I would never have gotten this finished without them. Go check out their stuff if you haven't already.<strong>

**Please review. There is nothing quite like getting to know what others think of your work.**


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